


Lord Have Mercy on my Rough and Rowdy Ways

by imaginary_iby



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: 7.22 episode tag, Episode Tag, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 17:25:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10667346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_iby/pseuds/imaginary_iby
Summary: After days like today, all he really wants is to roll faded Navy sweatpants up and up and up, just to make Steve smile at the sight.  Tobelongto Steve, the way Steve belongs to him.





	Lord Have Mercy on my Rough and Rowdy Ways

**Author's Note:**

> There was So Much Hurt, at the end of 7.22, and not even a droplet of comfort. Thus, fic.

Danny tugs Steve’s sweatpants on, and tells himself that it’s for a good cause. He tells himself that it’s for Steve’s benefit, because the man is a Neanderthal, no doubt about it - he likes his steak raw and his beer chilly, he likes a morning handjob to start the day off right, and he definitely, absolutely, likes Danny in his clothes, all rumpled and snoozy and _his_.

Danny tells himself all of this, but as he burrows into the comfort of Steve’s tee, he knows that it’s only half of the whole truth. After days like today, all he really wants is to roll faded Navy sweatpants up, just to make Steve smile at the sight. To _belong_ to Steve, the way Steve belongs to him.

A splash and a curse from the bathroom draws Danny from his thoughts. He frowns, angling his ear to the half-open door to listen for any further commotion. “You okay, babe?”

Another splash, then a gruff, “Yeah.”

It’s a lie. Steve is raw, hurt from blows to the bones as well as the heart. His initial treatment had been public, surrounded by the team and EMTs (hastily dismissed but hovering nevertheless) and gawking passers-by. Sat on the hood of the Camaro, squawked at by yours truly as a spit-slicked cloth was wiped under his nose to scrub the blood away, he’d been exposed, wounds on display and heart on his sleeve. 

Danny would climb in the bath with him, clothes and all, if he thought it’d help, but what Steve needs right now is a bit of privacy. They might be family, partners, a pair, with shared bills and a big queen bed, but the history of the McGarrett line is something Steve holds close, deeply personal and painful. Oh, he’ll talk about it every now and then, but some hurts can never be truly shared. Danny knows this, better than most.

Padding across the room, he raps his knuckles on the door. “I’m heading downstairs. Yell if you need anything.”

Steve grunts, his only response, and Danny snuggles further into Steve’s clothes – too long, too big, too worn, just perfect. “Okay,” Danny adds. “Love you.”

-

As Danny sprawls on the couch, one ear on the TV and one on the upstairs, he tells himself that it’s for Steve’s benefit. He tells himself that he’s just being a concerned partner, listening out for a weary SEAL who is no doubt slowly glugging blood into too-hot bath-water and struggling to process his day. 

But the simple truth of it is, Danny’s anxious about the distance between them, even if it’s only a set of stairs and two walls. He’s anxious, a little frustrated and a lot in love, and he wishes Steve would hurry the hell up and get his ass on the couch. He has to bite his tongue a dozen times over to stop from hollering, but eventually the bathroom door squeaks open.

Hauling himself up from the couch, he heads into the kitchen, because it’s either that or storm upstairs and wrap around Steve, and he’s not sure Steve’s up for that, yet. He rubs his hands together and eyes off the leftovers, before quickly deciding that the last thing Steve needs is old Chinese. The bread is a bit dry, but there’s lots of eggs from Kono’s chickens, and Danny hopes that the smell of dippy eggs and soldiers will lure Steve down.

Eventually, Steve appears, limping, low-slung sweatpants somehow emphasizing the bruises on his bare chest. He has a shirt held loosely in one hand, a bottle of pain pills in the other, and he shuffles over to the kitchen island with, “Dinner?” on his lips.

Danny nods, setting down plates of eggs and toast, and he’s just turning to the kettle when Steve sits at the high-stool, reaches for him and reels him in. Soft cotton rustles against hurt skin, knees bump as legs twine, Danny coming to stand between Steve’s thighs. He rubs the sole of his foot against Steve’s calf, slotting hips to hips and brushing nose to nose.

“Dinner will go cold,” he says, but he’s kissing a path down Steve’s neck and he has no intention of stopping. _This._ This is what he’s needed, to settle the anxiety, the frustration. Oh, he needs words, too, words will follow, but right now nothing could ever feel better than touch - than Steve’s hand cupping the back of his head, fingers carding through his hair and guiding his mouth down, down, down. 

“Eager, aren’t you,” Danny chuckles, smiling outright when Steve huffs back a laugh. “It’s all right,” Danny adds, breath tickling the hairs on Steve’s chest. “I like it.” Plan in place, he trails lazy, warm kisses from collarbone to collarbone; curls his tongue around a nipple; sucks a little love-bite into the skin over Steve’s heart. It feels like the sweetest relief when Steve puddles in his arms, finally relaxing, head lolling back as Danny lavishes kisses across his chest.

Danny’s reluctant to break the moment, but he wants to get on his knees for Steve and kitchen tiles are seventeen kinds of nightmare. “C’mon,” he says softly, taking Steve’s hand and shuffle-dancing them into the living room, depositing Steve in an ungainly sprawl on the couch. 

Steve is quite a sight, even bruised to kingdom-come: chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, restless legs spread wide, only serving to show how hard he is, cock tenting his sweatpants. His eyes are dark, and Danny stands and watches, mesmerized, as Steve slides a hand across his stomach and down into his pants, long fingers gripping soft-hard skin that Danny can’t wait to wrap his lips around and suck to completion.

“You’re not playing fair,” he groans, achingly hard but determined to focus on Steve’s pleasure. There’s no reason he can’t have a little fun of his own, though, and he unties his - Steve’s - sweatpants, thumbs skirting inside the elastic, tugging the band over the hard jut of his cock and letting the material fall. He steps free, heart thumping happily when Steve reaches for him, desperate for closeness. Danny obliges, dropping to his knees and snuggling in, hands sliding up Steve’s thighs and back down again, dragging the band of his sweatpants as he goes. Steve, already blissed out, helpfully lifts his ass and shimmies, and soon enough he’s naked, grinning at the sight of Danny in nothing but a pilfered Navy tee and polka dot socks.

“You look pretty amazing right now,” he quips, and Danny can only laugh as he lowers his mouth to Steve’s cock.

\- 

The toast is stone cold by the time they make it back to the kitchen. Steve seems to have decided that the best way to cope with limping, is to snug himself tight against Danny’s back, hook his chin over Danny’s shoulder and shuffle along behind him.

“Sit,” Danny orders, nudging Steve back onto the high-stool. “Sit, I’ll make some more food.”

He’s just turning to the fridge when Steve holds up the shirt he’d brought into the kitchen, earlier. “Can you help me?”

Danny feels his heart lodge in this throat, because he recognizes the shirt. It’s his, faded blue and stretched out, a faint Newark PD logo printed across the back. “Yeah,” he says, voice thick, and he helps guide Steve’s arms into the sleeves, careful of miles of tender skin. 

As soon as Steve’s settled, he hunkers down, elbow on the kitchen bench and chin propped on knuckles, content to watch as Danny cooks. 

“Thank you,” Steve says softly. He’s all but radiating warmth, pink from his bath and the lingering flush of sex. His free hand presses to his sore side, fingers immediately smoothing back and forth over the material of the stolen shirt, drawing out comfort like a sunflower soaks sun. 

“You’re welcome, babe,” Danny replies, and turns to cook them dinner.


End file.
